


The Queen's Likeness

by solitariusvirtus



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-19
Updated: 2020-06-21
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:28:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22321072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/solitariusvirtus/pseuds/solitariusvirtus
Summary: AU! Prompt: To cheer up his Queen, King Aegon III hires an artist to paint a portrait of her. He regrets this when the artist subsequently makes her his muse, and paints her as “Sleeping Beauty.”
Relationships: Aegon III Targaryen/Jaehaera Targaryen
Comments: 53
Kudos: 38





	1. I

**Author's Note:**

  * For [yellowrabbit](https://archiveofourown.org/users/yellowrabbit/gifts).



Jaehaera wished at times that her food were poisoned. She played with a mushroom on her plate, pushing it to and fro. Her stomach had long since began protesting the notion of more food even as her ladies begged that she taste another morsel. But Jaehaera did not want to eat and she did not want their presence. She wished to walk the gardens and sit under a tall tree. Might be beg the Stranger to claim her and reunite her with Jaehaerys. How she missed her brother. Maelor had been much too young to be comfort.

She pushed away her laden plate and stood. The murmur around her died down. “Your Grace,” began Alys Blackwood, her soft voice inquiring rather than chastising. Jaehaera looked at the woman. Most of her ladies had stood with her, some of them sporting less than delighted miens. “What is the matter?” The worry on Alys’ face at least was genuine.

“I wish some fresh air,” she spoke after a great length of time during which too many eyes had stabbed at her with derision. “Th-the rest of y-you ought to return to y-your me-meal.” It had not been so bad, she had even managed to get more than a couple of words out without stuttering at a time. Even if it had not lasted.

Pushing back her shoulders slightly, she raised her chin some and even though her gaze was no longer tilted downward, she was careful not to meet anyone’s eyes. Alys made an acquiescing sound, bending to whisper to her closest companion and cousin, Lynette, before she left her seat and came around, holding her hands out invitingly. A few others offered to accompany them, but they were summarily dismissed with a shake of Jaehaera’s head.

They walked in silence for a time, with Alys holding Jaehaera’s hand as a sister might, as Jaehaerys has done once upon a time, as her mother never had for all her kindness. Worrying her lower lip between her teeth, she told herself it was a foolish notion to consider. “You could try engaging them every once in a while, my Queen. They would be your friends if you would only allow it,” Alys cut through the string of thoughts.

She kept her peace. Those women would never be her friends, not when every single one of them considered herself Jaehaera’s better in spirit if not in fact. And she did not need them, in any event. Hurrying her pace, she told herself that it was no tragedy; queens did not have friends. They had rivals and allies, no more and no less. But her silence did not lessen Alys’ enthusiasm for talk. In fact, her lady-in-waiting seemed to think the lack of response was patient consideration on her part, as she continued. “Take Lady Myrelle for one. She is a charming girl, well disposed and friendly. She would be a tremendous asset.”

Jaehaera pursed her lips against the harsh reply charging forth from somewhere inside her bruised, shamed and blistering heart. Knowing she would not win in any event even if she gave it her best, however, she bottled the displeasure within her and picked her skirts up, taking off in a canter. Alys called after her, but she would not stop. Aye, she was a dull witted, unnatural child to all around her, but she need not be such to herself. She need not listen to them flay her, she need not listen when they spoke ill of her sire or when they suggested the King would set her aside.

She was Jaehaera Targaryen and though she did not readily bloom for any hand, she had for her brother’s. For Jaehaerys had skill and he was trice the better of any man left in the realm. With that in mind she reached the small enclosure of the gardens wherein only she would ever set foot and closed herself within, behind the wooden fence where ivy grew wild and fall into the tall stalks of grass.

She heard movement without and knew it was likely Alys, settling herself upon one of the benches at the entrance. That would do, she supposed; she could finally shed the yoke of expectation, position and circumstance and breathe easily.

The cloth of her garb brushed against one of her wounds and she flinched, annoyed at the thing. With shaky fingers she tugged at her kyrtle’s collar so she might look down the bodice. An angry red line ran the span of her chest. If Ser Mervyn had not taken pity at the last moment, if she’d not struggled. Drawing back the cloth she arranged it along with embroidered collar that worked to hide the uppermost point of the scar. It was past.

It would heal. All wounds did, even the ones one wished mightn’t. Someday it would hurt less.

Lying down on her back she gazed up at the clear skies above her. “T-today I had ham and p-poa-poached e-eggs. The ha-ham was m-much too sa-salty.” She often spoke to Jaehaerys about such inconsequential things; what her meals had contained, what manner of cloth she’d been given for a new dress by Lady Clarice or how she was hoping she might petition her carers for a pet soon. The dead, she reckoned, did not much care for what went on in the world of the living, but then she fancied Jaehaerys who had always been better than any other would continue to be so in death, that he might even continue to care about from beyond the grave. A particularly fat cloud rolled abovehead, blocking out the rays of splendid sun. She hoped the good weather would hold; she had no wish to return to her chambers yet.

Relaxing against the soft earth and the warm air, Jaehaera closed her eyes. She allowed herself to drift off, not truly concentrating on anything as her thoughts spun out in a myriad of directions. For how long she lied there Jaehaera had no notion but it was long enough that she’d have surely fallen into slumber had not urgent pounding on the door of her sanctuary not jolted her out of the pleasant state. Jumping to her feet in fright, she dashed to the door, removing the bar she’d put in place and opening it wide for whoever stood on the other side.

Alys stood there, Ser Staunton just behind her, his imposing figure enough to have her squirm where she stood. Before she might get a word out, however, Alys took her well in hand. “Your presence is request, Your Grace. Lord Velaryon has returned.” The words had been delivered in a breathless rush, as though the matter was to have roused Jaehaera and imbue her with restless abandon in pursuit of a speedy appearance before the man.

For her part, she did as Alys bade, following obediently back to her chambers where her women tugged apart her garb and dressed her in fresh clothes. The purest of ivory whites encased her body, dotted at the hem with greens and reds of flowers and leaves. The golden girdle at her middle accentuated her hips, the pointed end tapering off into the golden ropes dandling down. Her hair was pulled and combed and braided, before it was hidden beneath a gossamer veil affixed with a thin golden circlet.

She was given a looking glass to peer into. Not that Jaehaera spent too much time doing so. She knew she looked a great like her lady mother, her features pleasant but not striking, her charms effective enough but not abundant. She did not need a looking glass to reaffirm any of that for her. If she gave the reflection any attention it was to appease her women and show that she appreciated their efforts.

Once done, the ladies-in-waiting pulled her to her feet and urged her into a hurried step. Alyn was much in favour with the ladies of the court, she did not doubt, and they were only too eager to catch a glimpse of him, even if he should have on his arm a wife, as he was sure to. She could not imagine Baela would not have joined the man.

The throne room was crowded. It always had been; Jaehaera could not recall a time when it was not. Even so, the sea of onlookers, well warned of her approach, parted so they may allow her and hers passage. Only that Jaehaera stopped one step within the chamber, eyes round as saucers when she caught sight of her lord husband and king with an arm slung about a younger man’s shoulder. She knew the face of the man too and could easily guess as to his identity. For Viserys had always resembled his sire a great deal more than many allowed, even as he resembled Rhaenyra.

A stab of something pinched her heart, causing the muscle to constrict painfully inside her chest. Aegon had taken notice of her as well, for he released his brother and assumed a cooler mien. Jaehaera could but look away and resume her pace as murmurs rose in volume around her. Viserys recognised her immediately as well, how could he not.

Unlike Aegon, however, he held his hands out to her and spoke in such a voice that she could not help glancing up at him. “Come, good-sister, come and give me the kiss of kinship.” She grasped his hands with her own and drew near, pressing her lips to the corner of his mouth. “You’ve grown,” he remarked after a moment of staring down at her. He was not quite as tall as Aegon, and she was rather short herself.

“A-as have y-you.” General laughter rose from around them. Cheeks flushing with shame at her stuttering speech, she drew into herself, looking away yet again. “B-be welcome, b-br-brother.”

“Still shy as ever, I see.” The words were kindly meant she did not doubt, yet she resented them all the same.

Stepping away so she might place herself at Aegon’s side, Jaehaera finally looked at the company the King’s brother had brought. Lord Alyn and his lady wife, to be sure, greeted her with calm indifference. She’d not expected more of them. But there were three more men, whom Viserys addressed in High Valyrian and called his brothers, and then there was a woman, tall and striking, slim but well-proportioned, the manner of lady to make hearts beat faster, whether with desire or envy. All scions of House Rogare, she was told as she suffered through the introductions, well aware that her husband would rather she were gone so that he might see to his guests without her interference. And another came forth, a young girl, not much younger than Jaehaera herself. She was as beautiful as the grown Larra Rogare, though more so in a child’s manner, and she would undoubtedly be beautiful when she flowered into a woman.

When she chanced to meet Baela’s eyes, Jaehaera felt the heart in her freeze. The woman watched her with a cold expression, very like the moue of Lady Clarice whenever she displeased her somehow. She understood then why the young girl had been brought and fought the tears of bitterness gathering in her eyes. She was a woman flowered with a husband that never came to her, whom she avoided if only to spare herself the pain and here kin that had been loyal to her sire brought her husband a ready replacement whom none would say a word in derision and with the added advantage of a long engagement ahead.

Wanting little more than to excuse herself from the gathering of tremendously elevated people, she touched her husband’s arm gently, flinching when he stiffened. Yet before she might do as she would, Viserys , who had been speaking of his many adventures, made mention of a miniature, which he produced a moment later from his lady wife. She would not have her escape, Jaehaera considered, as her good-brother pressed for her opinion on the likeness.

For politeness’ sake, she glanced down at the thing. A gasp left her lips. It was exquisite. Fearing that her words would betray her as they always did, she spoke naught of what she felt. Her sentiments were clear enough even so. She heard Aegon speak though, “And you have brought this man with you?”

“Naturally; treasures should not be easily discarded.” To be sure, the portrait showed the man to advantage. He would never be as handsome as his eldest brother, yet the way the artist had captured the light falling on his face just so, the way his eyes sparked with inner strength, the way his lips curved in an enigmatic smile; gods, he was more than enough to turn any maiden’s head.

“The Queen shall have her likeness painted by him then.” Her head shot up at his words and a weak protest sprang upon her lips. Aegon turned his gaze upon her, stern expression hardening ever so slightly.

“I-I c-couldn’t,” she forced out, for fear of offering insult. Not to mention she was not much of a subject in any event.

“On the contrary,” Viserys jumped in, “you’ve naught to do but sit there and look pretty. I am certain you will accomplish that with ease. Brother, do not listen to a word she says; women like little better than to have their beauty so affirmed.”

What could she say to that? Aegon spoke decisively in favour of her sitting for the artist and she bowed her head in acquiescence. It was thus agreed that the man would be brought to court and she would do her husband’s bidding. Her hands tied, Jaehaera made a hasty retreat, claiming at length that the excitement had tired her beyond belief.

* * *

“You believe it was Peake’s hand?” Viserys questioned, his mien quite hard. He’d been sitting with Aegon for the past few hours, and they’d been discussing more than a great deal of what had transpired in the years of their separation. Aegon nodded his head in answer. “And yet I see the man walking your halls and holding your Council.”

“Jaehaera would not answer who it was that set upon her. Ser Mervyn likewise claims he saw not a soul.” He’d wanted to strangle his wife himself there and then when she’d refused him the answer. He was her sovereign, he was her husband, and might be more to the point, he wished to protect and avenge her. A woman should never be thus treated. “She barely escaped with her life.”

Viserys leaned back in his seat. “What I do not understand, brother mine, is why you care. She is our uncle’s daughter.” Aegon looked the other in the eyes. “She hasn’t beauty or a sparkling wit or even anything to set her apart from other maidens but her birth. She is not with child either. Would it not be easier if–”

His palm came down upon the table with a loud sound, interrupting Viserys. “She is my wife, under my care.” His countenance cleared. “She was injured under my protection. What good am I if I cannot even protect a woman; how shall I protect the realm?”

Understanding dawned upon Viserys’ face. “Well, well, so that is how matters stand?” He sighed and touched his arm. “I know not how you might gain her confidences, for I find her quite the odd creature, to tell you the truth. But if you feel you must do it, I suggest patience and much insistence.”

Aegon gritted his teeth against the wave of annoyance overtaking him. “I’ve tried everything short of tying her to a chair and questioning her. The maddening chit takes the first occasion she can to run from me.” As though the hounds of hell chased her, as though he might hurt her. Damn the fool of a girl.

“A stubborn one, is she?” His brother seemed to be finding entirely too much enjoyment in his predicament. Holding his hands up at the expression Aegon presumed he bore, Viserys hurriedly added, “Very well, let us see if we can convince the Queen to make a clean breast of it. You needn’t take on so, you know; no wonder the poor woman is half-fainting whenever she is in your presence.” 

He’d never, not once during their marriage harmed her, he’d not even muttered a cross word at her before the whole life-threatening incident. How dare she act as though he were some manner of ogre? He’d understood in spite of his worst inclinations that she had been an innocent in the war; he’d understood she’d lost brothers and had bled with suffering as surely as he had. He’d not hurried her into speech, waiting patiently whenever she chose to converse with him. He’d allowed her the choice of where and with whom she dined in the hopes of coaxing her closer, for he sensed in her a kindred spirit. And she did naught but turn him away time and again. Well, she found find that he was twice as stubborn and she had no hope of winning.

“That wife of yours,” Aegon put forth after a moment, “might she aid?”

“Not Larra,” Viserys laughed. “That one would not spit on you even if you were on fire without handsome compensation. Still, she came with a great deal of coin, so I suppose I should not complain too much.” His brother, a wedded man; the war had forced all of them to grow up far earlier than they otherwise would have. “ I, however, require no compensation and would be only too glad to come to your rescue.”

He supposed he had to accept that Viserys might put her at ease where he couldn’t, much as he hated to admit it. “Very well; I depend upon you on this.” His brother accepted the words with much joy, and for a brief moment it almost felt as though they were back to being carefree boys. If only that were so. 


	2. II

The mother of pearl sewn into her garb caught a stray ray of sunshine and glinted with the warm glow, elevating the gold to pure energy of pristine white. Jaehaera, whose women had carefully crafted her a mask of paints and powders, sat stiffly before the scrutinising gaze of Marqo Paeron, master of colours, some said. He was of Lysene descent, that one could easily discern at a glance, and he was young. Already a few of the court’s ladies had begun a ritual of longing sighs in his presence, for he was good looking enough, with the most striking blue eyes Jaehaera had ever seen, blue not quite as the sea, but neither as the skies. It was a shade most mysterious. His face was long and sharp, though with a grace of its own. Golden hair fell in a riot of curls about his shoulders, with one strand impishly slashing down his forehead. It gave him an air of ease, of uncomplicated existence to Jaehaera’s mind and made her curious as to what manner of life he led, beyond the selling of his talent. He was not tall, but rather of middling height. Should they stand together, she reached his shoulder most easily. But then height would not aid him since he had no need to intimidate others.

“This shan’t do at all.” The words broke the spell of her reverie. Jaehaera flinched. The man’s voice had been as soft as a caress, yet it was one which shook her nevertheless. He reached out for her and she instinctively drew back. Seemingly unbothered, he tugged on the cloth of her garb. “This, too much white.” His grasp of the Common Tongue was commendable, but she could hear the odd inflections more suited to the flowing notes of bastard Valyrian. His manner was likewise much too daring. Jaehaera pushed his hand away, almost missing the way his eyes widened upon her face. “Dark colours suit my lady much better.” Torn, she stared wordlessly at the man. His hand rose, coming to rest against her cheek. An odd manner of smile twisted his lips even as his thumb brushed against her mouth, doubtlessly smearing red paint around the proper confines, “Youth seldom needs the aid of such artifice,” he whispered, near as he was to her. Yet stunned at his daring, she could only open her lips in wordless protest.

The door flew open upon a high-pitched squeak from the hinges and a sharp scream of her own. Involuntarily, her senses followed the intrusion, eyes coming to rest upon the sight of one Roggerio Rogare and Ser Marwyn at his back with a fiercely annoyed expression upon his face. But just as soon, irritation bloomed into concern and the knight fairly pushed the Lysene nobleman in, “Your Grace, what has happened?” Blinking in confusion, Jaehaera shook her head. “Your face,” the man trailed off, hand travelling to his buckled sword.

Belated recalling the state of her cosmetics, she hurried to assure her protector that his intervention was not needed. “T-T’is n-na-naught.” Having no complaint to act against and at her express request, the knight was forced to retreat, even as Roggerio happily settled on the settee with her, looking expectantly at the artist. Jaehaera presumed the arrangement was the reason for which the man had insisted that he could only work in relative isolation and that she ought to be presented to him in whichever chambers of the King’s choosing where they would not be interrupted.

Finding herself once more the object of unbridled scrutiny, Jaehaera closed her eyes against the wave of heat burning through her. Someone clucked their tongue and a cultured voice spoke, “I can see why you should wish my opinion. Poor woman had been tightly laced in such insipid garb. ‘Tis litter wonder she is easily overshadowed.” It was his touch that opened her eyes.

Did these men have no concern for their hands whatsoever? She was a queen, their superior in every respect, moreover she was a married woman. And she could not stand for such treatment; yet she did not move. Such was her terror at the notion of possible retaliation that she froze in place, her insides turning to ice. Deft fingers removed her coronet and her veil, coaxing her tresses out of their confinement, tugging and pulling until the long sliver curtain fell about her shoulders. She found herself faced with a bowl of water and a moist handkerchief wielded so that it might wash away all the work of her ladies-in-waiting. 

Long elegant fingers grabbed at her chin, turning her head so that she faced Marqo. “Much better,” the man said, fingers combing through her unbound hair. Feeling rather like a doll put on display for the amusement of the two, Jaehaera retreated even further into herself. But Marqo turned his attention upon the other and asked, “It will do, would you not say?”

And just like that she was released. Deflating, her frame slumped against the back of the seat. If the two took notice of her distress, it did not give them pause. In fact, her good-brother saw fit to grin impishly and bring his hands together as though some great feat had been accomplished. “Do not leave her hair as it is though.” Jaehaera had always loathed the stubborn straightness of her hair; when it curled it did not last and unless bound it found some way to embarrass her. The court’s strict view on how and when one should display their capillary endowments had been a source of comfort for as long as she could remember. “A flower or two should do.” She started at the words, looking from one man to another.

“Red roses.” The rose; a flower of passion and ardent adoration, was it not? Jaehaera shuddered. Why could the man simply not paint her as she was. Mustering all her courage, she put precisely that question forth in halting words, as was her custom.

A muffled chuckle came from the artist, too readily smothered to be taken for amusement. “Any work of mine is a display of skill and ingenuity, Your Grace; were I to turn up such a work that did not capture my subjects best, it would be an insult to the very nature of art.” What a lofty opinion he had of himself. “More to the point, however, I do not like to be cheated of material, and all this,” he gestured to her and then to her fallen veil, “is no less than an attempt at hiding.”

She laughed shakily. “Wh-why w-w-w-would I hi-hide?” And what right did he have to tear through her shield as though it were mere cloth and he a sharp dagger? All the King had asked for was a portrait; all that Jaehaera wished for was to have it done. And yet she could not help but be intrigued by such attention bestowed upon her. Targaryens were oft regarded with admiration where they went, for their form was generally pleasing and if not they were engaging. But she had never fit one category or the other. She had been quite happy to hide away in the shadows too.

“That I cannot answer’ it must be for reasons of your own.” He sat down upon an empty stool. “You will doubtlessly return to your veils and insipid garb when this is all over. But I wish, for just a moment, lady, to uncover the women behind. To let her see the world and allow the world to observe her and upon its drawn breath think, _Here is woman. Is she not lovely?_ Whatever you choose to do after is no concern of mine.“

“L-lo-lovely? I-I am n-not.” Her words were earnestly spoken. Jaehaera met the man’s eyes as she said them and held his gaze, willing him to truly look, to put aside his work for a moment and the thought of coin and truly gaze upon her.

Yet he merely shook his head. “Come to me on the morrow in the darkest garb you have. Bring also your most favoured bejewelled pieces.” Left hanging, for he neither allowed her comment its due, nor refuted it, Jaehaera found she could do little but push her heavy limbs until they moved and brought her to standing. Her coronet and veil were put in her hands and she wondered how she might pin them in place. But then what did it matter, she would not claim any undue attention.

With that in mind, she left the men to their conversation and scurried without where her knight waited. He eyed her changed appearance but said naught and she did not leave him an opening to comment in any case for she was walking as fast as her feet could carry her.

Jaehaera saw naught of the world and the world, she presumed, saw naught of her, which aided until she was back in her chambers and her ladies were upon her, demanding to know what had transpired and why she looked as she did.

* * *

“I am merely curious,” Roggerio defended himself, presumably having seen the unease his questions sparked. Aegon wondered whether his insistence would be enough to see him sent back to his sire. “She seldom joins us and when she does, it seems to my eyes she tries her best to blend in with the shadows and disappear altogether.” Unable to tell whether the words were criticism or concern, Aegon looked to his brother for aid.

Clever with words and canny in his own manner, Viserys was quick to make reply. “That is her way; it always has been. I do not recall much of her before the war, only that her brother could occasionally draw her out of her shell.” Jaehaerys; Aegon’s brow furrowed. She dreamt of her brother upon occasions, so he’d been informed. His lips curled downwards.

“Then do whatever it is he did; is it not a pity that such a lovely flower should be kept from blooming?” The King’s attention sharpened upon the guest. It was not seldom that his wife attracted admiring eyes; but the owners knew to never speak of it. “Is it not a pity to be so isolated when surrounded by kin and company?”

Jaehaera understood might be better than most that kin was no comfort and could just as easily turn upon one another and company only withstood as long as one had yet some power left. “I do not know how it is in Lys, but here a man’s wife is not an object of display.” His thoughts wondered to his mother; the pain of her death had dulled some, it had had to, but he could well recall the whispers he’d heard of her when she yet lived and the even more surprising ones he’d heard once she was dead. If he could help it, he would shield his wife from such a fate. If that meant Jaehaera keep her solitary ways, he did not suppose he might complain of it.

His good-brother laughed. “Forgive my plainness, Your Grace, but you are, the both of you, young men and have not much in knowledge of women.” Aegon did not perceive mockery in those words, thus he allowed himself to listen. “Too much attention will make for a flighty, wondering soul, forever in search of a better perch and forever guided by passing fancy. Too little attention, however, atrophies the soul, turning the heart to stone. Neither one or the other makes for a comfortable wife.”

He granted the speech his attention, trying to find flaws in the simple reasoning he had been presented with. To his surprise, Aegon came to understand he would not find any such gaps, for it stood as an argument and as a view. “If she wishes to keep to herself, I will not stop her.”

“One cannot change one’s nature, after all,” mussed Viserys over his cup of wine. “As for hard-hearted women, my good-sister may well have a hard shell, but her insides are soft; this much I know.”

The subject drifted towards another matters before long, deflected by both Roggerio and himself; Aegon told himself that he needn’t pay too much attention to the earlier exchange. His brother’s words ringing with finality in his ear aided in that impression. What, after all, did Roggerio know of Jaehaera? Women were women and Jaehaera, though a woman, was most decidedly not like other women. Attention did not sway her, gifts left little impression to speak of and her permanent irenic disposition remained undisturbed no matter what was thrown her way. She was, in other words, as different from his lady mother as a woman could be. And he did not foresee that changing.

The evening drew on until they’d had their fill of wine and talk and the company dispersed, each to their own chambers and to, hopefully restful, slumber. His thought knocked to and fro inside his head, the low hum of slightly too much wine joining in to further confuse and confound him. Aegon brought a hand to his forehead. He would not attempt to keep up with the other two when they drank; assuredly, he would be better served by a slower pace. Let that be a lesson for him. Finding his way to his bed, Aegon met the gaze of Gaemon Palehair, whose eyes, darkened by low light and something he could not name, gave him pause.

“I believe I have been neglecting you,” he spoke after a heavy silence. Gaemon lowered his gaze. It was answer enough that Aegon found himself sighing. “Gaemon, my attention I find is much too limited. Forgive me, my friend.”

“There is naught to forgive, Your Grace.” His doublet fell to the ground. “If I may be frank,” his companion trailed off, awaiting an answer. Aegon could not deny him that, thus he allowed the speech to come with some apprehension. “Only men’s attention is limited. A King is, however, not a man. His attention must thus be limitless. If one is caught unawares, it could be disastrous.”

“What are you saying, Gaemon?” His hand caught the other’s, as though to hold him in place. He recognised a warning when he heard one. And he liked it not one jot that the man would not simply come out and say whatever it was. “Whatever you say, I shall hear it to the end.”

Thus emboldened, Gaemon yet took a moment to unburden himself. “The Queens’ women wonder what went on in the painter’s chambers. They say they sent the Queen in as a proper lady ought to be and she came with her veil and crown in hand.” A pause broke the speech. The silence lingered heavy between them. “I took it upon myself to ask Ser Marvyn, for he guarded at the door, and I thought he might know best. Your Grace, he confirms the talk of the women.”

Hand falling away, Aegon could not help but feel himself as though on unsteady ground. Jaehaera had worn her veil from the day of their wedding forth; she had not taken it off, to his knowledge, for any one person. Only once had he seen her hair unpinned, falling about her shoulders himself. “That cannot be.” His wife’s head was not turned by compliments and neither was her heart made glad by rude attention. That was not possible.

“She asked her women to find the darkest cloths and she has been taking stock of her jewellery. I would not speak against the Queen, for she is young; might be she knows not what she does in this.” Gaemon took one step back. “Your Grace might wish to look into the matter.”For a moment Aegon had feared Gaemon might attempt to influence him, but then he knew better.

On the morrow, he would. Dismissing Gaemon, he saw himself made comfortable for sleep. But even when in bed, with the curtains falling about him, the warm glow of the fire a short distance away and a wide featherbed at his disposal, Aegon could not fall into slumber. He passed the night in thought, resting for only short minutes at a time, coming to in bursts. And when morning finally came, he found himself weary and tired yet.

But the world would not wait for him and he would not wait for answers. Leaving the spot he had forced himself into, Aegon washed and dressed for the day. He did not eat for he did not think he might stomach it and his curiosity was much too great to be thus impeded. He sent Gaemon to the Queen’s chambers to make his intentions known. There was, naturally, no answer that might contradict his will and the answer from the Queen’s chambers was that he was eagerly awaited. Not that Aegon would’ve expected any differently. 

He found Jaehaera surrounded by her women, apparently in the middle of refusing further aid. Her face was pale, made paler still by the dark hue of her kyrtle. Her hair, unbound beneath the veil, peeked from behind the protective layer of cloth. She held in her hands a wooden box, intricately and carefully carved. Her eyes, however, were on him, the expectant gleam the only sign he had that her waters had been perturbed.

But then he had his answer, did he not. “Lady wife, I shall join you this day.” Her eyes widened and she glanced away from him, to one of her women, as though beseeching her to aid. But then, when no answer came, she merely nodded her head. If there was aught untoward in the painter’s attention, he could easily take note of it and put an end to the whole endeavour.

His wife stood at long last. “I-if m-my lo-lord so wills i-it.” Aegon did not repeat himself. He merely offered his arm so she might lean on him, steeling himself against the small shock her touch produced. Her small hand rested against the dark cloth of his garb, the sable of her cuff losing itself in the blacks of his sleeve.


	3. III

He did not look like a thwarted lover, Aegon had to give the man at least that much. Jaehaera did not seem comfortable enough with him either, so he could not imagine her being a willing participant in any scheme on an illicit nature. Marqo Paeron studied the two of them, looking as though he’d been struck by a most inspiring notion. “I can see it now; indeed, Your Grace was quite right to invite His Grace along.” The man took a step back and addressed him. “If you would be so kind, Your Majesty, how would you show Her Grace to advantage?”

For a moment Aegon could do little other than stare at the man. He looked to his wife, her slightly furrowed brow and the accentuated paleness of her features, and thought that in spite of the serious, even dour, expression she looked lovely. Approaching gently, as one did an easily spooked filly, he guided Jaehaera to the empty chair by the lancet, seating her to the light shone from without, falling upon her in gentle waves. The shine of the sun upon her caused her to blink rapidly. Her hand landed upon his just when he reached for one of her arms. Their eyes met in silent communication.

Fine porcelain skin reddened with a sudden blush. Her lips parted gently. There was something about the moment, something which tugged at him, at his very core. There was aught he need to do. Pure impulse propelled him; led by knowledge as old as time itself, he leaned in and uncaring of the audience, brushed his lips to one of his wife’s smooth cheeks. Her warm breath fanned against the side of his face. She grabbed hold of his arm firmly, as though to steady herself. He wished they were anywhere else, for his mind had begun to conjure all manner of poses which would put her to best advantage, albeit not for a portrait.

All the same, he drew back from her and she released her hold. Turning from her, he spoke, “The veil remains.” Supposing his earlier display enough to keep any manner of foolishness at bay, he departed without further word, cursing himself for a fool. He was not some pup wet behind the ears; pangs of lust were not a novelty, even those directed towards his wife. Yet it was the first time he had been so strongly driven to act upon them.

Was it might be the perceived danger of having her so close to a great number of unfamiliar men? Would someone of Jaehaera’s sort, meek and retiring, even be interested in taking on a lover? He scowled at the notion and then he scowled at himself for even considering it. Jaehaera was not his mother, nor any other licentious lady of the court. More to the point, as an ingénue she had little notion herself of what an affair might entail.

Aegon paused. He stood before Viserys’ chambers with a frown on his face. Who else might he turn to but his brother? He was bound to know just how far the painter might be trusted and if it so happened that he mightn’t, well then all the better to find out with all due haste. It was in such a state that he came to his brother.

Viserys needed but one look at him to understand his mood. The testament of their bond came to manifest itself before he had even shut the chamber door. “Gracious, you do look as though you’ve just come from battle. Do sit down,” his brother insisted. “I thought I heard you’d joined your Queen this morning.”

“Gaemon repeated some concerning rumours to me regarding her and that dratted man.” And while he was certain Gaemon had had the best of intentions, the uncertainty was doing naught for him. Aegon stared at his younger brother expectantly.

For his part, Viserys seemed rather relaxed. Naturally, he would be. ‘Twas not his wife that made the subject of scandalous gossip. “What of it? There are always rumours. Why, if you heard half of the things they say of you and Lady Myrielle, you’ll soon be wondering why your wife hadn’t taken a score of lovers yet.” Snickering, the younger of the two went on. “And to tell you truly, is it not about time you paid her some mind? She is a woman grown, has been for some time now.”

“What has that to do with it? Can you not see she spooks if I as much as say a couple of words to her?” Why she might faint dead away if he intruded upon her in her bedchamber. Aegon grimaced. It was for her benefit that he’d waited and would wait longer still. “I will not give her further reason to shy away from me.”

His brother pulled a face. “Would it not be better to simply be done with the matter? Show her she need not fear your presence in the least and put paid to all speculation as to whether you mean to put your Queen aside. It will please her greatly, I can assure you, and it will please you a greater deal still, as this things are wont to do.”

“She is not mother, Viserys,” he pointed out gently. Their parents had, of course, a passionate marriage, fraught with violent outbursts and even hastier patching up, most of which was achieved behind closed doors. Still and all, it was no secret. Even less so to a grown man; Aegon did not want such a bond with Jaehaera.

“But she is a woman all the same.” The words were firm, yet his own conviction flagged. Dare he take the risk? Would he push her further away or draw her closer in? Clenching his teeth, Aegon batted the questions away. Viserys offered a brief smile. “Good, you seem to have made your mind up. Get to it then. I do so hate to see you moping about.” Were he less dignified, Aegon would have hit him.

* * *

Her husband was acting strange. Jaehaera supposed that wasn’t saying much, given their lineage, but all the same, she felt perturbed by his actions. What was she to make of it? So very taken aback had she been even in the morning that throughout the hours sitting for the maester of paints, she’d done little but lose herself in her own thoughts, gazing dreamily ahead. Why, she’d nearly missed the man speaking to her. He’d been seemed annoyed, albeit Jaehaera did not perceive him to be the patient sort. Instead, she could swear she’d heard amusement on his face more than once when she chanced to meet his gaze and paid enough mind to take not of such thing.

In the end, she’d resolved to put the matter aside and do her best to move on to other things requiring her attention, such as embroidery or tea with Lady Clarice. Only that before she might gather the courage to summon the woman, a note came. It was handed to her by one of the women whose eyes sparkled with interest. Jaehaera unfolded it daintily and read its contents with mounting unease. She handed it to the one who’d brought it forth. “His Majesty awaits my presence in the gardens.”

Might be he wished to explain himself. The notion buoyed her some. He would certainly tell her that he’d suffered some momentary bout of insanity and she would graciously forgive him. Well though she knew men suffered such with great frequency, she also knew it was reserved to those of their women they held in some regard. Her father had often enough pulled one or another lady aside for his pleasure. The kisses she’d witnessed then were naught like the gentle gesture Aegon had offered, but then there wasn’t much difference in truth. She would be mindful of the fact that her husband had ever treated her with respect, if somewhat coldly.

Thus having made her mind up, Jaehaera allowed her ladies-in-waiting to fuss over her. Her kyrtle was replaced with a cheerier garb of fine faded green silk, embroidered with flowers and birds and the gods knew what else. Her hair they combed back, securing their work with two thin braids. The veil was then pinned into place and a thin circlet of gold placed atop her head. Alys offered her the use of rouge. “A drop to bring some colour,” she’d said. Somehow Jaehaera allowed herself to be convinced. 

Thus bedecked and prepared, she made for the gardens, followed closely by a couple of her ladies and a knight of the kingsguard. Aegon awaited her arrival as promised. He too had been joined by a small retinue of familiar faces. Her husband beckoned her over with a languid gesture and she hurried to obey, eager to see the matter through. They might after return to their more familiar interactions.

Curtsying in silent greeting, she awaited his words, wondering whether they ought to retreat away from the onlookers, if only for a greater degree of privacy. He must have had the same thought. “Walk with me a while,” Aegon said without preamble, forcing her head up in surprise.

Obediently, she gave him her hand when he requested it. Aegon placed it in the crook of his arm and led her away from the crowd, signalling only that they were not to be followed when the kingsguards moved in their wake. He took her by way of a narrow path to a small corner of the garden which seemed to have been entirely missed by all living souls, for she saw not even a trimmed hedge. Biting into her lower lip in order to keep from fidgeting, Jaehaera looked to her husband for reassurance that all was well.

Whether he felt her unease or if he acted by some other instinct altogether, Aegon sat her upon an empty bench and placed himself at her side. “It is time we spoke about some matters, lady wife, which have been weighing upon my mind. I am certain you will agree with me once, you hear, that these ought to be clarified.”

“C-cer-certainly,” she stammered as much at his words as at the look in his eyes. “D-do, sp-spea-speak ea-ea-easily.” She blinked up at him, for a first picking up a note spice in the soft scent wafting off of him. She wasn’t quite certain what it was, yet she found it agreeable enough to wonder why it was that she’d not noticed it in the past. Might be for the same reason she’d not noticed the resemblance between her husband and his sire. She could still recall the handsome face. Aegon was somewhat dourer in expression, but quite blessed with evenness of features and well defined lines. For a moment she wondered whether her own brother would have looked even remotely similar, but dismissed the notion. Jaehaerys’ features had been much softer.

“The situation between us cannot continue as it is indefinitely.” The words were like a cold bucket of water dumped over her head. Freezing in place, she regarded him with newfound suspicion. “It is past time we take on the duties left untouched for too long.” Wordlessly, she attempted to push away the apprehension rising within her. “Jaehaera, I do not mean to force your hand. But it must be done. The sooner, the better.”

Did he not wish for Myrelle to give him an heir? “Bu-but, wh-wh-why not p-put me a-as-aside?” Only a moment later did she realise how foolish she sounded. Had the man wished for Myrelle, he would have spoken to her. Clearing her throat, she asked with some effort, why her, doing her best to avoid his gaze. The issue proved awkward enough without seeing the pity in his gaze, for she doubted it could be much else she’d find there.

A deep sigh came from him. “You are my wife. That is reason enough.” There was aught behind those words, something she dared not probe, thus Jaehaera nodded in acceptance. What else could she do? 

* * *

Steam curled above the rippling surface with every little movement of her body. Jaehaera studied the body beneath the watery blanket with concentration worthy of the greatest maesters perfecting their craft. She grimaced at the uncovered expanse of flesh, wondering how she might keep him from discovering the ghastly scar running down her chest. The jagged red line was the manner of blemish which could not be overlooked. What man would look upon her and not have quite a few questions? One trembling fingers traced the line from the upper tip biting into the soft tissue of her breast to the lowest point just above her hip.

It wasn’t so much the markings on her flesh that made her shudder, but what it intimated. She couldn’t say that to Aegon; for all his faults, he was blameless. That much she knew. Sinking lower still into the water until her chin was submerged as well, Jaehaera closed her eyes, stretching both her hands out, fingers curling around the edge of the tub. The heat was making her lightheaded. She ought to rise and rinse herself off. Tugging until she’d managed to extricate herself from the heated embrace of sweet-scented water, Jaehaera shivered as the coolness of the bedchamber met her moist skin.

Bending, she took hold of the small bucket filled with clean water and spilled its contents forth. Soapsuds ran down her form, losing themselves into the tub in the end. She gingerly stepped over the edge after, reaching for the long sheet left folded near the hearth. She wrapped herself in the length, wishing not for the first time that she’d allowed her women to remain behind and aid her. Alas, a soft sight left her lips as she settled upon the rug, hugging herself, rubbing her hands over her arms to aid the blood flow.

The warmth of the fire slowly permeated the chill settled about her, gracing her with comfort after a few moments’ wait. She could not linger overlong, however, for it had been made clear to her that time was of the essence. According to Alys, at least, men, kings most especially, were not to be kept waiting; no matter that he had made her wait. Working her way into a lighter mood, Jaehaera discarded the cloth from her shoulders and picked up the chemise left for her use. Once covered, she merely walked to the bedchamber door and opened it, nodding to the waiting Alys.

That was all it took for the servants to make their way within and begin draining the tub. For her part, Jaehaera retreated to the bedchamber, since it too had a perfectly functioning hearth with a merrily burning fire and an even greater rug. It was, in other words, the perfect spot where she might dry her hair some. Taking out her comb she began running it gently down her sodden tresses, wincing as she caught a few knots on the way down. What she wouldn’t give for some manner of sorcery that would spare her the pain.

The quite sound of a door opening should not have fazed her. She was expecting company. All the same, she jumped at the sound, whirling around in time to catch sight of the intruder. If the situation bothered him at all, Aegon covered it remarkably well. She wished she had half his skill. Yet whatever else she might have done, whatever else would have made sense, all that Jaehaera did manage was a sharp little sound which punctured the rhythmic crackling of the fire-devoured logs. She saw his eyes fall to the small portion of the scar visible over the gently rounded collar of her garb. Naturally they would; it was such an ugly sight.

He dwelled not on it though. With a few steps, he stood before her, holding his hand out. “Let me help you with that.” She blinked uncertainly. “Your hair,” Aegon clarified after a moment. She relinquished the object into his care, only too glad to turn away from his gaze and offer the man her back. At least she would be unaware of where his eyes looked if she could not see his face.

Surprisingly warm fingers touched her nape as the great weight of her hair was lifted and drawn backward. Coolness cloaked her back and she felt him begin to work. His touch was gently, as though he were quite used to it, as if they’d been doing such a thing for years. Knots gave him no troubles, parting before him as surely as though they’d been cleaved open; he worked with an incredible amount of patience, leaving her to wonder as to the queerness of the moment. She’d not thought to find him so accommodating and wondered when the other shoe might drop. Doubtlessly, she would find out soon enough. For the time being, she forced herself to enjoy the peace and quiet.

“Are you cold?” his voice, somehow lower than before, broke through the stillness. Looking over her shoulder, she met his unflinching stare. “You are shivering,” Aegon pointed out matter of factly. It wasn’t the cold that brought such an effect upon her.

Rising haltingly to her feet, she turned to face him. He watched her back attentively, not faltering for the tiniest of moments. “Wh-what d-do you want?” She’d managed to keep from stammering the last part out, though it had taken her a tad too long to speak.

His gaze lowered to the scar once more. “For now, merely to get warn under the covers.” Climbing to with graceful movements, he held his hand out to her, palm raised heavenwards. A shuddering breath escaped her when their hands touched. His fingers wrapped gently around her much smaller limb. She returned his grip. She wondered at the pressure in her chest; might be he would understand. Hope whispered quietly in her heart. Emboldened, she drew closer, waiting for what might come after.

The warm glow of the fire seemed to dim all around them. 

**Author's Note:**

> Short work commissioned by yellowrabbit. The idea is theirs and thus any other takers for the prompt should treat with them.


End file.
